Back to the silliness

I've managed to accidentally see a couple forgettable movies this year which I could probably count on one hand if I could just remember what they were. But last weekend my brother David recommended that I watch a movie on purpose.

We were discussing the infinite gory details of my week which had been one of those in which enough little things go wrong to make any one of them seem like a big deal, otherwise known as "being pecked to death by chickens". Concerned for my emotional health, David asked, "What are you going to do this weekend?" I thought resting to get rid of my cold a reasonable goal.

"On Saturday I'm going to mope. Sunday I'll teach Sunday school and then eat dinner at Aunt Lynne's." My brother in his infinite wisdom decided that an entire day devoted to moping might be a bit much.

"I could watch TV..." I volunteered. "Watching TV indiscriminately can be really depressing." He recommended that I rent a movie. "It will lend direction to your moping."

I doubted Blockbuster would carry either of the movies I've been wanting to see: You See Me Laughing or Be Here to Love Me. There was a third possibility too, a probably obscure documentary on Texas singer songwriters, the name of which I couldn't remember.

David emailed me to say that I had been correct on the unavailability of my preferred movies. In reality, a documentary probably offers less in the way of escape than fiction anyway, and perhaps especially a documentary about a manic depressive alcoholic musician.

Instead my brother recommended Secretary, which he described as "a great and weirdly romantic movie about a woman recently released from a mental hospital after treatment for self-mutilating tendencies and her new job as secretary for a successful attorney with a tendency toward angry disapproval." He's pretty sure he took that description from Netflix, but not surprisingly I don't have Netflix, so the verdict is still sort of out on that point.

I headed to Blockbuster: "Where do I find Secretary?" "The drama section." "Drama?!?! I'm not sure I actually need any more drama..." Shortly after I arrived home my friend Laurie came over and we started the movie. I explained that I always took my brother's advice in as much as I am able, but that I was wary this time, because the movie sounded depressing. "Oh no!" Laurie explained, "I like depressing movies. They make my life seem more normal!"

Obviously this is not a kid friendly movie. Even if you HAVE been looking for just the opportunity to discuss self mutilation and/or submission to men with your kids, this is probably not the discussion starter you're looking for. Unless of course your plan is actually to promote self mutilation, because for the main character in this movie self mutilation seems to serve a purpose, albeit a sort of disturbing one.

I learned a lot from this movie, or more to the point from discussing this movie with Laurie. This is what happens when you spend just over half your adult life married: you find out from a friend that the characters in disturbing movies are almost sort of semi-normal. You also find out that all kinds of other things that sound totally off the wall are almost sort of semi-semi normal, but that's beside the point.

All in all, I think both David and Laurie were right. It ends up being a decent sort of escape, because although neither character in the movie really has any positive personality traits, they end up "happily ever after" despite or even because of their particular bundle of issues. It's the type of movie that ends with "See? The both of them are a couple of freaks and yet they're happy within their lunacy or perhaps even because of it. I look like incredibly sane and positively well adjusted compared to them. I had no idea I was solid as a rock!

Just the date (the calendar date that is)

I was all set to press publish the normal laughing at life's absurdities last night when I found midnight had passed me by unnoticed. I'm sort of torn between not posting at all today which fits in well with my "no crying on this blog" attitude and my inability to keep quiet. I figure the best compromise might be to keep it short (also a near impossibility for me).

To that end I'm only going with only my most poignant memory of 9/11. I was teaching first grade (six and seven year olds) in public school at the time. On the actual day our instructions had been not to breath a word of what was happening to the children. There's a balance, I think, between what my daughter's school did (turned on the news for the six year olds to watch) and stonewalling the obvious hysteria, but I've promised brevity...

The following morning we were allowed to discuss what had happened during class time, the assumption being that their parents had already had their shot at providing comfort and explanations as they saw fit. The children didn't have many questions. In fact, only one hand went up. "Was it on purpose?" I will never forget their collective gasp at my answer- the sound of an entire classroom of children having their hopes dashed at once.

Need some overpriced crap?

Need any overpriced crap? Because my kids, like children the nation over, are selling it for school. If you happen to be related to my children, you're supposed to feel obligated to nod yes and dig into your wallet.

If you have kids in public school or are related to children in public school, perhaps you're already the proud owner of 7,432 square feet of reversible wrapping paper. Or maybe you merely have magazine subscriptions that don't run out until the year 2126.

Private schools don't escape either. I've already sent home two fund raisers with my preschoolers and the school year has barely begun.

Getting into why or how we have decided that it's a great idea for our five year olds to sell garbage to their relatives and neighbors to help finance their education is probably a stretch for this relatively carefree blog, so I figured I'd just settle for making fun of some of the items my son is currently selling:

As if the shoes weren't ugly enough, now you can have a mini crock that is "perfect for holding your cell phone"...because just setting it directly on the table would assault the senses and all.

For the record, I fully appreciate the practicality and durability of crocs. They make excellent camp shoes. I just don't happen to want one for my coffee table.

Here's a mug for $9 and two plastic magnets for $8. These are worth it, I'm sure.

I'm not actually a big Disney person, but even if I were, I'd have to be a serious collector to buy this $20 timer:


Since I'll need to buy something, it might be this thing. It would go nicely in my purse with the all purpose tool, would replace my lost allen wrenches and it's probably only double what it would cost at Academy:

Here's an inspirational notepad. For a mere $7.50 you can have some 4 inch square pieces of paper, jot a note or two and then deposit them directly into the trash alongside the rest of the stuff in the catalog. Or you could just skip the middle step:

*****

Didn't I promise I still had plenty of bar bathroom pictures left over from summer? This is my coteacher and one of my best friends in the bathroom at Sliders. Unbeknownst to me she'd been waiting to make an appearance on my blog for awhile now. The bathroom at Sliders is pretty clean, and like the rest of Sliders, well lit. Perhaps a little too well lit in the bar itself, but you can never have enough lighting in a bathroom:

Sliders main selling point, though, is not necessarily the bathroom but the fact that it's a great place for dogs to drink while they look out the window forlornly:

*****

On other dog related topics, lunch room conversations today focused on what foreign objects whose dog had eaten and pooped out, up to and including socks, pantyhose, and a fleece blanket.

Generally speaking I can chew, swallow, digest, and even manage to enjoy my lunch during all types of poop, blood, vomit and other biological discussions, but this one for some reason seemed a little unappetizing.

I'm continually telling my son he needs to toughen up a little and not let one little comment ruin an entire meal. He should really sit in on a preschool teacher lunch sometime.

Sorry burglars, you missed your chance!

So it turns out that you’re not actually supposed to notify the burglars and stalkers until AFTER you return from a trip, so says my friend Debbie. Perhaps I’m also not supposed to mention that we’re back and that I’ve scrubbed all the camping off me. It was tough to get the camping off in the shower, sandwiched such as it was between two thick layers of road trip.

Camping was SO FUN!!!! And by fun, I mean that our tent didn’t leak too very badly and nothing happened that necessitated an emergency room visit.

This, of course, was due to our constant collective vigilance and superior parenting skills, such as when Roger called out, “Samira! Go tell the boys to stop throwing rocks at each other!” Rocks are irresistible to children. I think it was the year before last when the boys invented a game where one of them threw a basketball in the air and the others threw rocks at it.

The reason this game did not gain the popularity necessary to overtake well established professional sports and gain a spot on weekend television is because basketballs are bouncy. Things like rocks bounce right off and occasionally scratch the cornea of the rock thrower. Other than that, it’s a delightfully entertaining game, which after careful consideration and an eye patch, the adults decided to ban. Meaning that this year the boys were forced to take the more direct route of just throwing the rocks directly at each other.

We have a fresh influx of bugs every year. One year we were overrun by fire ants, the next it was bees. Cassie claims there was an infestation of centipedes one trip, although I apparently blocked this from memory. This year brought crickets, cleverly disguised as giant bouncing roaches.

A truly impressive display of thunderstorms turned our three hour drive to the campsite into six after which we began setting up our tents in the pitch black, save for one little lantern which I conveniently ran over with the car after deciding the headlights would do a more thorough job. I'd like to put in a plug for Coleman products, because my lantern still served its purpose even after the telltale crunching noise.

I used to take lots of pictures each trip but never get them developed. This year I streamlined the process even further: I brought the camera but didn’t take any pictures. Next year I might just save that three inches of space in the car. We could certainly use the elbow room.

These pictures from 2004 seem just as good as any. The first one is has me about to go off the rope swing. The other two are of the kids:

I am forever grateful to the Nounous and the Greens for letting us tag along every year, the Langleys and the Cormiers and the families that couldn't make it this time.

Without them we’d never get to go camping, because basically I have no clue what I’m doing and own very little camping equipment. And though I’d never let that stop me, it would hardly be worth it without them. Besides which we’d live on cold cuts and cereal.

THANKS GUYS!

Camping (with you) is THE BEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!